


Australia VS. France

by ElloMenoP



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5105981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloMenoP/pseuds/ElloMenoP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr request! Sniper and Spy make a bet neither can win- Scout!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Australia VS. France

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This_Is_Alias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Is_Alias/gifts).



“Mmm, mmm,” Sniper moaned and held up a finger to signal to Spy that he had something to add to the conversation, yet, whatever it was, was not important enough to stop drinking for. Spy stopped talking and patiently waited for the Australian to down his drink, he ran a gloved finger over a water stain on the cheap laminate, it was shaped like Mexico. Spy briefly wondered if Sniper’s camper van had ever travelled down there. 

Sniper slammed the empty glass down with a satisfied sigh and licked his lips. 

“Well?” Spy prompted.

“I don’t agree with you,” Sniper stated, though his tone was still as friendly as two drinking buddies could be.

Spy snorted, “What else is new?”

Sniper licked his lips again and tried to find the words through his alcohol clouded mind. “S’just that he’s creepy, probably start off nice but then he’d want to cut your belly open and fuck from the inside out.”

The Frenchman giggled over his own drink, he could feel his cheeks heating up and was happy that his mask covered the most of his gin blossoms. “But isn’t that apart of the appeal? The danger the doctor can inflict?”

Sniper made a repulsed face and replied, “Heavy can flirt with danger all he likes, I’ll stick to sane partners, thank you very much.” 

“Heavy,” Spy’s attention instantly diverted.

Sniper grinned, “Heavy.”

“Imagine being under him.”

“Him sitting on your face.”

“Just a finger inside you.”

“Two fingers inside you.”

“Too bad he’s taken.”

Both returned to their drinks with a glower. It wasn’t fair that Tuefort had so little to offer in terms of opportunities. And their own team was limited to six other men either straight or taken, and one who-knows-what in an asbestos suit. And the chances of Sniper and Spy hooking up was completely off the table, they found out early on they were better as adversaries than lovers. After a shared silence, Spy changed the subject.

“Demoman.”

Sniper made a lewd moan. “Fuck, I wish he was.”

“I know, he’s so gorgeous,” Spy groaned.

“A bloody god.”

“All those muscles.”

“His smile.”

“Not going to lie, I love that accent.”

“On anyone else it would be grating, but on him…”

“It’s like velvet.”

Sniper poured enough vodka into his glass to make it overflow. “Kinda’ want to take advantage of him.”

“Get him drunk.”

“Take him back to the van.”

Both got quiet as they got lost in separate fantasies. Spy was dreaming of Demo’s strong hands griping his hips as he rode the Scotsman into oblivion. Sniper preferred being bent over with Demo’s chest pressed against his back, sweat slick skin rubbing on each other, the man’s quiet grunts right beside his ear. Now the camper van was silent for an entirely different reason. Spy coughed and readjusted in his seat, Sniper took a big gulp of vodka and opted for another subject change. 

“What’ya think of Soldier?”

Spy thought about the question and carefully considered his words. “I think he doesn’t understand what he wants.”

“Oh yeah? He’s been on dates before,” Sniper countered.

“Yes, double-dates, with Scout. And how did they end? In flames.”

“And public nudity,” Sniper added. “You think he’d be into men?”

Spy snorted again, “Why? Have a craving for American meat?”

Sniper balked and hurried to refute. “No!

The Frenchman began giggling again. “Sounds a little defensive.”

“I told you I wasn’t into the crazies!” Sniper shouted back, red faced. “‘Sides, he’s not even my type.”

“Oh, that’s right, you like young, hairless twinks,” Spy jeered.

“Not just twinks!” Sniper’s face was getting redder by the second.

“So, Scout is on the table?” The Frenchman teased. “Or bent over it.”

“No, he most definitely is not on the table.” Sniper sat back and crossed his arms. “For about a dozen reasons. Annoying little…he ain’t even gay.”

Spy raised both eyebrows, a little shocked that Sniper hadn’t picked up on it. “Oh? You think so?”

“He’s been going after Miss Pauling since day one.”

“So?”

“He’s not gay,” Sniper insisted. 

“He is,” Spy insisted right back. 

“He is not.” 

Spy rolled his eyes at the Australian’s stubbornness. “Do you know how often Scout goes to the gym?”

“One stereotype doesn’t make him queer,” Sniper snapped.

The Frenchman put his glass down over the Mexico shaped water stain. “He goes at least twice a week and yet that boy can barely lift his scattergun, what do you think he’s doing there?”

“Who says he's not trying to pull women?”

Spy shrugged, “Who says he’s not trying to pull men?”

“Cause he’s bloody not,” Sniper maintained. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“Cause if he was, he woulda made a pass at me by now,” Sniper blurted out.

At first, Spy was silent, taking in what Sniper had just said, then he burst out laughing. The giggles were infectious and soon Sniper was cracking up alongside him. Though, slowly the marksman realized that Spy was not laughing with him, but at him, and his smile faded into a frown. He sulked into his vodka until the Spy stopped honking and wiped a tears out of his eyes.

“Oh, bushman, I never knew you thought so…highly of yourself.”

“S’not funny, I’m a bloody catch,” Sniper pouted.

 

Spy giggled a bit more, “Aww, is that what your mother told you?”

Sniper dipped three fingers into his drink and flicked droplets of vodka at the man. “Shut up! And I mean it, Scout would’ve tried something by now.”

Spy sipped his drink. “Maybe you’re not his type?”

“I’m everybody’s type.”

“I think he would much prefer me, to some skinny, dried out piece of leather.”

“Piss off,” Sniper shot back. “He’d rather me over you, any day. He hates you.”

“Hate can be a powerful aphrodisiac.”

“Or it can put you in the bloody hospital.”

Spy glowered, no one was impervious to his charm. “He’d much prefer me over you, any day.”

It was Sniper’s turn to snort, “Not likely, mate.”

An idea quickly formed in Spy’s mind. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

Sniper stopped his hand from bringing his drink to his lips, interested in a chance to double his monthly pay. A sly grin formed, and he took on a relaxed but pompous position, leaning back against the cushioned booth seat. 

“Sure, mate. What’ya have in mind?”

Spy returned the grin and began proposing terms and conditions.

—-

So far, Sniper was still confident he’d win, even if it would be a challenge. He spent that past two nights with a fake smile plastered on his face while he listened to Scout ramble on and on about his intel caps and kill streaks. Sniper nearly broke when the runner told a two hour long story about him taking down a sentry, even though Sniper had been there for that. And he remembered it quite differently.

Sniper took a calming breath and interrupted the younger man, “Hey, mate, why don’t we do something else?” He dragged his kitchen chair closer, until their arms were touching. “Have you ever shot a bow and arrow?”

“Uh, no.” Judging by Scout’s tone he was clearly angry at having the conversation directed away from him, and that he had no interest in silly weapons. “Anyways…” He picked up where he left off.

He heard a snort in the story, but it didn’t come from Scout.

“Really? That’s your go-to move?” Spy’s smug face appeared in the doorway. 

Scout, ever the narcissist, believed the jab was aimed at him and began violently refuting Spy. Sniper glared at the Frenchman and grumbled, “Just getting started, wanker.”

The marksman drummed his fingers on the table in irritation. It was okay, he had plenty of time and he was a patient, cool, and calculated man. He could get Scout in the sack in no time. He had to start thinking about his target, start predicting his moves. He smirked and lined up a bullet in the chamber. 

“What’s the matter, mate? Can’t handle it?” He challenged.

Scout was still raging on, directing all his energy at Spy. “And what do you know about moves? Your signature move is down and dirty, stabbing a guy when his back is turned- what? What can’t I handle!”

Sniper jumped back when Scout suddenly redirected to him, but that was good. He could use it. “I said you couldn’t handle it, bow and arrow. S’not as easy as that little gun you’ve got.”

“I so could! I’m probably ten times better than your sorry ass!”

“Prove it.”

Sniper shot Spy a smirk as Scout stood up, eager to prove Sniper wrong, and consequentially, get close to the Australian. For some reason Spy didn’t seem ruffled by it.

“Scout, you like baseball, right?” Spy casually asked as he opened the fridge.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” Scout was still on the defensive, still misinterpreting the entire encounter as an attack.

Spy pulled out the milk and set it on the counter, then his hand slipped into his suit jacket and his pulled out two slips of paper. “I was given these as a gift, but I have no real interest in sports.”

Scout’s wary is apparent, but he grabs the tickets anyway. They’re good seats, right along the third baseline. He’s still suspicious, and Sniper and Spy watch as the boy hold them up against the light, checking for watermarks, as he thinks and makes sure that there really is a game scheduled today, peeks his head out the window to check the weather too. 

Once satisfied that they were real, Scout turned to the Frenchman. “What’s the catch?” 

Spy tries his most genuine smile, it still comes off as slimy. “None.”

Sniper can see his target slipping away.

“You’re just giving these to me? No strings attached? No tricks?” 

“Oui.”

Sniper can see it all playing out, Scout accepting the tickets, offering to take Spy along as a thank you, slowly getting know one another. They share a soda, Scout catches a foul ball, the end up in the ‘Kiss Cam’ and Spy convinces him it’d be rude not to. 

“I’ll go with you, mate,” Sniper quickly jumped in. “Never seen American baseball before, is it anything like cricket?”

Scout made a repulsed face. “Cricket? That froofy game in the tea time get ups? No way, pal, baseball’s way more hardcore.”

Sniper directed his smile at Spy and he spoke to Scout, “Is it? I can’t wait, should we get going then?”

Spy’s eyes narrowed with irritation as the two left the kitchen. His scowl deepened when Sniper strutted back in to declare, “So that’s Australia-1 and France-0?”

—

Even though the car ride was hell, that Scout sang off key with the radio, that he put his feet on the dashboard, that he spilled half a can of BONK! on his seats, Sniper still felt triumphant. He was even considering slipping the cameraman a twenty to put them on the ‘Kiss Cam.’ He made sure to pay for their snacks, was even able to stretch his arm along the back of Scout’s seat, perfect to move in closer…

“Excuse me, sir?” 

Both Scout and Sniper’s eyes snapped over to the usher. Through a mouthful of popcorn Scout demanded, “Yeah yeah, get us a couple of hot dogs would ya?”

Sniper inwardly withered from the embarrassment of Scout’s rudeness. He was about to apologize until he saw the policemen behind the usher. 

“You’ve got to come with us,” one of them ordered.

“What? What for?” Sniper recoiled from a beefy hand brandishing handcuffs. “I didn’t do anything!”

“A man matching your description stole these tickets earlier today,” the other cop said. Eyes were on him, drawing the stares of dozens of strangers. 

“You’ve the wrong man, I haven’t mugged anyone!” Sniper struggled as the two cops hauled him out of his seat and into a pair of cuffs. “You’ve got this all wrong! Scout, bloody do something!”

If Scout had tried something, Sniper didn’t see it, he was marched out of the stadium and into the back of a squad car. It took ages for him to get through to the base, he was beginning to think he’d have to spend the night in holding, but then finally someone picked up.

“Hey, it’s Sniper-”

His ear was filled with the most irritating laugh. “Oh jarman, I was wondering when you’d call. I heard all about your arrest,” Spy tutted. “I thought Australia was founded by criminals, not still inhabited by them.”

Sniper clenched his jaws in anger. “You bloody rat, you knew! You knew- you disguised as me and- argh! I’m gonna cut you in half!”

“Perhaps after mine and Scout’s dinner? ???

Sniper seethed. “You fucking-!”

“So that’s France-1 and Australia-0?”

—-

Everyone on the team could tell that things were tense between Sniper and Spy, everyone except Scout. The runner was so consumed in is vanity that he mistook both mercenaries’ sudden attention for hero worship. It didn’t occur to him that either had ulterior motives for getting him alone, even when Spy’s suggestion for an art lesson ended with the Frenchman modeling, shirtless and seductive. 

The perfect scene was set, a fire was crackling in Spy’s smoking room, two whiskey tumblers set out, and most importantly, the door was locked. Spy had no doubt that Sniper would try to return the favor and sabotage his carefully constructed design. Spy wouldn’t allow that, not at all. He upped his game, started to remove his mask.

“Scout? Would it be easier for you if you could see my face clearly?” Spy’s tone was accommodating, warm, and interested. All evening he had been the charmer, coaxing Scout into drawing, offering him expensive whiskey, stroking the boy’s ego. And now, he’s offered a sign of trust, something to make Scout feel special. 

Scout’s eyes darted up from the small easel, smudge of charcoal on his cheek, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Spy quickly obliged, sliding his well worn mask off. He tussled his hair, ran his gloveless fingers through them, ran his hand over his five o’clock shadow, and shot a smolder. Yet, the boy seemed to have no interest, his eyes were on him, however they were seeing straight past Spy, breaking the assassin down to lines and shades. 

“I don’t take my mask off for anybody, you know,” Spy purred, hiding his annoyance. 

Scout was engrossed in his drawing and he mumbled back, “Oh yeah?” But he did not sound the least bit interested in Spy’s identity. 

The Frenchman hid his disappointment easily enough, it’s not like that was his only move, even if it had never failed him before. He waited, far from patient, in his arm chair, trying not to move and willing Scout to draw faster. It wasn’t an entire waste, Spy spent the time rehearsing his reaction to Scout’s drawing, a touch of astonishment, tons of compliments, heartfelt gratitude. When the time came, Spy found he needn’t have rehearsed at all.

Scout sat back on in his chair, tore the page from the large drawing book and held it up to Spy. His eyes went wide with real astonishment, compliments tumbled out of his mouth, and he found himself thanking Scout and actually meaning it.

“Scout, it’s…I’m shocked.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” the runner shrugged. “I used to draw way better back when I drew everyday. I mean it’s still great.” He was quick to congratulate himself.

The charcoal drawing was mesmerizing, the longer Spy stared at it the more flaws he found, but for some reason they didn’t matter. The likeness was okay, but the shading was perfect, and every contour line was so smooth, like liquid. He’d been drawn before, but from Scout it was unexpected. A hidden talent that the Frenchman never considered to look into. He was so floored by it that he missed his opportunity.

Scout had clapped his hands together, shaking off charcoal dust and adding black smudges to his pants front. He downed the rest of his whiskey and set the tumbler aside, tossed a, “I’ll sign it for you if you want, probably be worth thousands,” over his shoulder as he left the smoking room. 

Spy was left standing in the middle of his room feeling vaguely bested, and surprisingly aroused. 

—

Sniper was not fairing any better. His advances weren’t landing, every painful moment spent with Scout nearly forced the Aussie into quitting. Could he really stand having sex with someone like Scout? His brash and vain nature put Sniper on edge, had him grinding his teeth just to keep his mouth shut. 

“Jesus- this stupid fucking thing is broken!” Scout complained and threw Sniper’s hand crafted Huntsman bow on the ground.

Sniper’s eye twitched. 

“Mate, it’s not broken-” He took a deep breath. Stepped forward and placed his hands on Scout’s hips again, pressing his body against the runner’s. He gently and sensually redirected Scout into the proper stance, brought his lips right by Scout’s ear and whispered, “Just got to get you in the right position, love."

Scout didn't shiver, or giggle, he didn’t swoon. He shifted his feet back into a batting stance and mumbled to Sniper, “Nah, that ain’t right, this is the way you gotta do it.”

Sniper nearly screamed. He was sick of this kid. Sick and tired of his boasting, of his bravado, he didn’t know shit and he shouldn’t act like it. Sniper was certain that Scout was the worst person he’d ever met.

“Mate, you gotta face the target at least,” Sniper tried to keep his tone even and kind, but irritation was seeping in. Either way, it went unnoticed by Scout, who had picked up the bow once more to send an arrow flying way off target, and high into a tree. It was the last of them. Sniper growled, “Great.”

“Yeah, not too bad that time,” Scout agreed, missing the anger in Sniper’s voice. “Guess we’re out of arrows though.”

This time Sniper did scream. He let a string of colorful curses, he stomped on the ground, growled and curled his hands into fists. He considered turning on Scout, wondered if hate sex qualified under his and Spy’s terms. 

“Bloody, buggering fucking idiot…!”

“Jeez, Snipes, calm down, I’ll get your arrow back,” Scout said. 

He jogged off toward the tree, Sniper watched him, knowing that the little gremlin wouldn’t be able to reach his arrow, let alone retrieve it. The painful ache in his jaw slowly dissipated as he stopped clenching and let his mouth fall open in astonishment. Scout climbed the tree like a jungle cat, shimmying up the trunk until he reach a larger branch. Then he easily navigated the limbs as if he were raised on them. He worked his way back down, until he reach the lowest branch and gracefully jumped to land on both feet. He ran back over and handed the arrow to Sniper.

“See no big,” he smiled. 

Sniper never noticed how adorable his crooked buckteeth were. 

—

During the next battle, neither Spy or Sniper were committed to victory. Spy knew that Scout had a habit of ‘tagging’ all over the enemy base, but he had never given it a second look. Now that he knew about Scout’s hidden talent he felt the need to find every bit of graffiti he could. What he did find didn’t surprise him, yet it didn’t annoy him as it once might have. The dicks and crude drawings Scout placed over the enemy’s side were charming, they showed potential, they weren’t offensive, they were art.

While Spy was searching for multiple signs of love, Sniper was following around a single one. He kept his sight on Scout all day, watching him run and jump. Usually what he saw was Scout acting like a fool, swinging his bat and taunting when he didn’t deserve to, him getting in the way of his shots, or making stupid moves that only got him killed. Now though, Scout was athletic, he was poised and agile. Scout was like one of his bullets but with a mind of its own, fast, deadly, and precise. The runner’s obnoxious laugh and bad insults were only the cherry on top of a perfect being. 

By the end of the day, neither man had earned a single point, but each felt like winners. Even throughout Soldier’s screaming chastisements, Medic’s glares, and Engineer’s passive aggressive comments, Sniper and Spy remained bemused. Each were happy to hang around Scout and listen to his boasting about the battle, or his long winded and anticlimactic stories. While Sniper sat on the edge of his seat and clung to every word, Spy was getting lost in a fantasy world.

He dreamed about Scout breaking through into the art world. About him leading a new art movement, something groundbreaking and incredible. He pictured the gallery openings, the magazine interviews, controversial stances on what qualified as art. Above all Spy imagined himself as Scout’s muse. To be the person that inspired him, to have a relationship that was much more intimate than lovers.

Spy sighed dreamily as Scout finished his story, “…yeah, and then they kicked me off the team! Just cause no one could hit a single one’a my pitches. Just too good, you know.”

“S’brillant, mate,” Sniper complimented and smiled.

Spy glared at him.

Sniper leered back.

Spy hurried to ask, “Scout, what do you think about another art session?”

Sniper jumped to disagree, “I thought you were gonna teach some baseball, show me those stretches.” 

Sniper deliberately eyed Spy. The Frenchman shrugged it off and took a step forward, placing his hand on Scout’s shoulder. Sniper lunged forward and grabbed Scout’s wrist, tugging him away.

“Uh, guys,” Scout tried to interrupt. 

“We have plans, you slimy rat,” Sniper growled.

Spy derisively hissed back, “Idiotic games.”

“Fellas,” Scout laughed. “I know I’m in high demand but-”

“He’d rather play baseball!” Sniper pulled sharply, nearly making Scout fall over.

“Art is his true passion!” Spy pulled back.

Scout was still oblivious to their intentions, but still reveled in their attention. “Guys, really, plenty of me to go around.”

“Not right now there is.” 

A forth voice joined the men in the common room. The owner of said voice hooked a hand into Scout’s collar and hauled him away from the squabbling assassins. Both Sniper and Spy considered running after Engineer, but the Texan looked far from pleased, muttering about Scout’s shenanigans. Sniper thought it was endearing, Spy saw a misunderstood artist.  
Sniper rounded on the Frenchman. “That was a bit heavy handed.”

He snorted in return, “Like you were any better.”

The Australian felt a stab of jealousy at the potential of losing Scout. “Look, you’re not gonna win so you might as well quit.”

Spy was going to win, he was going to win far more than some silly bet. “Take your own advice, bushman.”

—-

Both mercenaries had gone their separate ways, each sitting and planning, trying to determine the best way to make their newfound feelings toward Scout known. Sniper was nervous, he never expected to fall so hard for the athletic boy, and whether he liked to admit it or not, Spy was stiff competition. He was terrified he’d miss his chance because the lousy Frenchman couldn’t stand to lose.

Sniper made a decision.

But unbeknownst to him, Spy had come to his own conclusion as well. The masked man went out and bought a dozen roses, gourmet chocolates, and rehearsed his admission enough times to know Scout wouldn’t be able to reject him. He was displeased to see Sniper prowling around Engineer’s workshop, waiting for Scout.

“What are those?” He nodded at Spy’s flowers, the venom in his voice almost enough to make them wilt.

Spy snarled back, “Much more than what you have to offer.”

The lanky man nearly pulled his arm back to take a swing, but instead he composed himself. “Look,” he started, “I want out.”

Spy hid his surprise by happily accepting Sniper’s surrender. “Good, you can pay me by the end of the week.”

Sniper nodded, it was a small price to pay to have a real chance with Scout. “Right then.”

For a moment they stood in silence, then Spy extended his hand and they cordially shook for less than a second. Then Spy took a step toward Engineer’s workshop, where they could hear the Texan yelling at the runner.

Sniper’s brows knit together with confusion. “What are you doing? Bet’s over.”

Spy couldn’t hide it this time, he looked away from the marksman.

“You…” Sniper trailed off in disbelief.

“He’s an artist!” Spy screamed in his defense.

“He’s not in to you!” Sniper yelled back.

“What do you care, you said it yourself the bet’s over-”

The realization hit Spy, he scrambled to get to the workshop door before the Aussie. What followed was a comical interpretation of football, Sniper pushing Spy away, Spy shoving back, rose petals spilling all around them. The Australian kept trying to tear the flowers and chocolates away, in Spy’s attempt to guard them they got crushed.

“Hey guys, what’s going on? We playin’ a game or something?” 

Both men felt deep embarrassment as Scout appeared before them. They quickly untangled. Sniper meanly snatched the broken and sad looking roses, and Spy held on proudly to the crushed chocolate box.

The Australian was quicker, he slid an arm around Scout’s shoulders and said, “Sure am glad to find you, Roo.”

Scout smiled in return, “Yeah me too.”

Spy felt his heart break, Sniper felt his soar. 

“Really?” Sniper never felt so lucky in his life.

“Yeah,” Scout began. “Hanging out with you lately has been, you know, really cool.”

“Yeah?” Sniper’s heart was racing. 

“Yeah, you remind me so much of my brother, well one of them,” Scout commented, without realizing the damage he’d done.

Sniper went wide eyed and froze, it was ten times worse than a flat out rejection. Spy couldn’t stop himself from laughing, snorting and honking at Sniper’s loss. 

“B-but, this brother of yours, you two were…close right?” Sniper slide his hand down to Scout’s waist.

“I mean, pretty close, he’s a lot closer with his twin, you know?” Scout missed the signal, and Spy took the opportunity to shove Sniper out of the way and replace his hand with his own gloved one. Scout turned into the new hold. “Actually, Spy, you remind of him, the two of you are just like them. The good pair, not the bad pair.” 

Again, Scout was oblivious to the pain and anguish he just caused. Spy’s hand fell away from the runner’s waist, Sniper dropped the pitiful bunch of roses. Scout continued to talk, blind to the broken men in front of him. 

“…they were always pretty nice to me…”

“Thinks of us as brothers,” Sniper spat.

“Do you still have the vodka in your camper?” Spy pathetically asked.

“…even though I was the youngest they totally looked up to me, like you guys…”

Sniper gave a characteristic monosyllabic reply, “Yeah.”

“Let’s get drunk.”

“Yeah.”

The Frenchman trudged behind the Australian, heavy footfalls hitting the camper’s steps, and then plopping down across from in front of the same tired Mexico shaped water stain on the table. Both waited until their first two drinks were finished to say a word.

“Heavy and Medic would probably be open to a threesome,” Sniper mentioned. 

“You think?” Spy genuinely considered the option.

**Author's Note:**

> The real winner here is me, finishing a request ten months late


End file.
